


i am beautiful and bad (and i will destroy everything you have)

by moonminghao



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Based off of the Call Call Call music video, M/M, drugs + alcohol abuse, gangs ? organized crime, lots of hate fucking and unhealthy relationships, sometimes .. trying to do the right thing .. is worse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonminghao/pseuds/moonminghao
Summary: Reckless and ruthless and in over their heads.(Two street gangs hellbent on killing each other, while both trying to survive the oppressive rule of the rich and powerful.)





	1. young and pretty

**Author's Note:**

> wow this sucks?? this sucks. story title taken from [beautiful & bad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2HttcXtiCg) by loml nicole dollanganger 
> 
> for anyone who didn't catch it in the mv, the three 'gangs' are  
> -the higher ups: seungcheol, seungkwan, mingyu and soonyoung (led by cheol)  
> -'middle class': jihoon, seokmin, minghao, jeonghan and wonwoo (led by jihoon)  
> -street: vernon, chan, junhui and joshua (led by hansol. loosely.)
> 
> im sorry the first chapter is really jumpy and disconnected, i swear it'll get better (maybe)

“ _God fucking damnit._ ”

Chan’s words ring through the small room. It’s the first time anyone has spoken in hours and Joshua winces at the noise. 

“Seriously, why the fuck does this keep happening to us?” Chan asks, searching for some form of further acknowledgement. 

Junhui, who is trying to dress Hansol’s wounds, shrugs. He’s the only one unscathed, his hair matted down by dirt and his hands shaking. The iodine that he’s wiping against the cut on Hansol’s cheek causes the younger boy to squirm uncomfortably, saying nothing but gasping at the sting. Hansol undoubtedly received the brunt of the blows, and Chan tries not to watch. 

It isn’t any worse than it always is, he supposes. Their little gang can certainly put up a fight, but they are crushed like birds beneath tires when there are skirmishes with the higher-ups. Today had been no different, cornered by Seungcheol’s underlings and beaten black and blue. 

“Bad luck.” Joshua answers. He keeps unwrapping and retying the bandage around his own arm, never quite satisfied with the way it clings to his skin. “Wrong place, wrong time.” 

Chan rolls his eyes. There’s a sharp pain in his forehead, and when he brings his hand away from his temple, it’s covered in crimson. 

“This isn’t just bad luck, Shua.” Hansol says. His speech is slower than usual, strangely labored. “They’re always like, one step ahead of us or whatever.” 

“Well, it’s fucking annoying.” the agitation in Chan’s voice is painfully evident and he knows he’s being immature but he can’t bring himself to care. He figures he’s allowed to be childish in situations like these, when he’s picking shattered pieces of glass from a beer bottle out of his hair. 

“Stop that. You might hurt yourself. Let me do it after I finish this.” Junhui intones. Chan pays him little attention, too preoccupied with the nightmarish visions of the shards sinking into his skin. 

Once Junhui moves on to the youngest, Hansol continues his monologue. He looks better now than he did an hour ago, when he was still cursing about his dislocated fingers through a bloody mouth. 

“They have a serious problem with us. And I don’t just mean they hate all the fucking street rats, I mean they hate _us._ ” He gestures vaguely around the room. “So that’s why _this_ keeps happening. We’re being fucking targeted. We’re being targeted and we’re sitting on our asses like fucking ducks and just taking it until one of us dies.” he speaks quickly, worried that he’ll be interrupted by Joshua’s condescending mutters. 

Then, an uncomfortable silence settles around the four of them. The instances of Hansol losing his cool are so rare that they don’t know how to respond to it, staring at him expectantly for a punchline that isn’t coming. He pretends not to notice, suddenly very interested in the moth corpses littering the window sill next to his seat. 

Eventually, Chan nods. “Okay. So what do you think we should do about it?”

* * *

The bathroom shelves are too empty. Minghao can tell even before he opens the mirror to look. He likes to imagine that him and his pill bottles are connected in some way, a soulmate sort of bond. 

He knows they aren’t there. He checks the cabinet anyways. All he can find is cold medicine and Jeonghan’s appetite suppressants. The mirror crashes against its hinges with a loud thud as he slams it shut, unbelievably annoyed. 

 

Minghao finds Seokmin in the kitchen of their apartment, eating crackers and waiting for the kettle to boil. He’s dressed casually, an oversized shirt hanging off his thin frame. The very sight of him pacifies Minghao’s anger a bit; no one can ever be _that_ mad at Seokmin. 

“What the fuck did you do with my pills?” Minghao asks sharply. If it was anyone else, he would have jumped straight to violence. 

“Me?” Seokmin says, eyes wide. 

“Yes, you. Don’t lie to me, Seokmin. You’re the only one who cares enough to actually, I don’t know, throw them away? Hide them? What the fuck did you do with them?” He repeats.

A high pitched noise fills the room. Seokmin unplugs the kettle, begins to pour his tea. “You want some?”

“Oh my fucking god.” Minghao groans. “If you don’t tell me-” 

“I didn’t do anything with them. You’re interrogating the wrong guy, I swear. Do you want any tea?” 

“No. I don’t.” Minghao says, already halfway out the kitchen. 

Their apartment is sizeable. It’s more than enough for the five of them, especially when Wonwoo is rarely ever home. Minghao checks the living room, a deserted landscape where the television is blaring despite the obvious lack of audience. 

Jihoon’s headquarters is his next target. He wants to find Jeonghan, who he knows will be wherever Jihoon is. Minghao throws the door open without knocking and is met with the sight of Jihoon sitting at his desk, across from a slouching Wonwoo. 

“Ah, Wonwoo, having fun in the principal's office?” Minghao teases. The glare that Jihoon sends his way quickly makes Minghao drop his smirk. He’ll have to ask Wonwoo what he’s being chewed out for later. 

True to his suspicions, Jeonghan is laying on the leather couch near Jihoon. His eyes are closed but Minghao knows he isn’t really sleeping, especially not when Minghao grabs him by the collar and forces him to sit up. 

“Oh. Hey baby.” Jeonghan says, reaching forward to run a hand through Minghao’s hair. The younger boy slaps his wrist away. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m angry.” Minghao speaks in stuttering Korean, and his inability to properly communicate his frustration just makes it worse. 

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “If you’re here to yell at me about your fucking vicodin, I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Minghao tightens his grip on Jeonghan’s shirt. 

“I already sold them to some poor fuckers at the bar, Myungho.” 

“ _Why?_ You don’t see me fucking with your blow!” 

“ _Because_ you were totally useless last time we went up against Hansol’s boys. I can’t imagine how bad it would have been if we’d been cornered by shitheads who actually knew how to fight. This little addiction of yours is hindering your ability to properly carry out your job, which, by the way, is protecting your leader, who you’d be absolutely fucked without.” 

Minghao lets go of Jeonghan then. The last thing he needs is a lecture about how great Jihoon is from Jeonghan’s mouth, still red from the last time Jihoon throatfucked the eldest. 

He stands up, brushes his shoulders off, and glances around the room. Wonwoo is staring at him with his perpetually unreadable face, and Jihoon looks like he is fantasizing about putting a bullet in Minghao’s brain, which, knowing him, he probably is. 

“Whatever. I’m going out. My phone is on silent unless it’s Seokmin who’s calling.”

* * *

The kitchen table is covered in papers and there are Chinese food cartons on the floor. Chan inspects the documents as Hansol explains them, trying to avoid getting his greasy fingers on Junhui’s carefully written notes. 

All of the files are neatly organized, reminding Chan of grade school. There are photos clipped into them, ones that Chan has never seen before, and he stares at them dumbly. 

“That’s Choi Seungcheol.” Joshua says. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the refrigerator and slurping noodles while he sifts through more research. 

“Wow, thanks Jisoo, I never would have known.” Chan retorts quickly. He’s fairly certain that anyone who has set foot in Japan could recognize Seungcheol, the Korean millionaire, a puppeteer with strings attached to just about every powerful man on the island. 

“ _Chan._ ” Junhui says quietly. It’s something close to a warning, telling the youngest to at least try to control his attitude. 

“I couldn’t find anything solid on him that we aren’t already aware of, sorry.” Hansol says. He pushes another file forward and runs a hand through his hair. It’s been a week since the fight and his face is still busted up. “Same thing with Kim Mingyu. The kid is dumb as a rock and can’t scheme for shit, but other than that? Nothing. I think he just blindly follows Choi, and is now higher up and deeper in than he anticipated.” 

“How about this guy?” Josh asks, holding up a small photo. The focal point of the photograph is a young man, dressed in a fine suit. His face is round and fair, chubby cheeks making him look childlike. 

“Kwon Soonyoung. Seungcheol’s right hand man.” Hansol pauses to crack open a beer. “Honestly, he’s a fucking maniac. His track record could give you whiplash. He’s the one I wanted to talk about, actually. I think he is our best chance of getting ahead.” 

Joshua inspects the papers in front of him. “Are you sure, Solie? Based on what you have here, he seems really loyal. I don’t think he could be easily bribed to share any of the data we need.” 

“You’re right, he’s a total dog. However, he has one famous vice that we can easily exploit.”

“What?” Chan asks. Hansol’s tone is teasing, the way it always is when he knows something no one else does. 

“Let’s just say he has an… obsession with the young and pretty.”

“Don’t we all? I don’t see how we could- ” 

“Young and pretty _boys_. Boys only.”

Chan is suddenly suffocatingly uncomfortable with the way all the eyes in the room are on him. “Okay. Cool. So we send Joonhwi in.” 

“We’d have a better chance of getting to him with someone who’s born and raised Korean.” Hansol says unabashedly. “And you’re younger. And pretty. You seem perfect for him, honestly. He obviously doesn’t do very thorough background checks before he takes a man to bed, not with his three year long affair with Jeon Wonwoo from Jihoon’s syndicate. Trust me, I’ve thought it out. This will be the perfect way to finally do something _smart_.” 

“I really don’t know about this, Hansol.” A sense of anxiety is starting to coil and tighten around Chan’s stomach and he puts his fork back down onto his plate. 

“You’re the one who’s always saying that we need to do something.” Hansol responds. His voice is firm but his eyes are pleading. He looks exhausted, having spent the entirety of the past seventy-two hours on his computer, digging up whatever information he could possibly find. “And it’s not like you’d start on your knees. You’ll begin as like, a normal secretary or intern. We haven’t quite worked out the details, figured it was useless if you won’t agree.” 

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll do it.” Chan says, closing his eyes so he won’t have to look at their reactions. 

“Alright. Good.” Hansol is barely trying to hide his excitement. He reaches forward to poke Chan’s cheek and give him a mildly unnerving smile. “If we can get to manipulating Seungcheol’s crew, we’ll have Jihoon and his fucking hooligans eating the god damned dirt.”

* * *

That night, Junhui slips into Chan’s bedroom. Chan shifts so the other boy will have room to lay next to the youngest. This has become a habit that neither of them are willing to break, sharing a bed like scared school children. 

“You don’t have to do it, y’know. You don’t have to go undercover, or become a sex toy, or whatever it is that Hansol is calling it.” Junhui mutters after a while. 

“It’s really not that serious, hyung.” Chan says softly. “I can do it. No problem.” 

“I don’t underestimate you.” Junhui has wrapped his arms around Chan, speaking his muffled words against Chan’s shoulder blades. “Just worried, I guess.” 

“You’re always worried. You don’t have to baby me, I’ll be just fine.” Chan’s tone is sharp but he turns over to accept Junhui’s embrace anyways, pressing his face against the chest of Junhui’s sweatshirt. The older boy smells like cigarettes and fabric softener. 

Junhui sighs. “I’m sure you will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this 'Eliza Doesn't Know How To Write Anything That Isn't Overly Depressing Or Ridiculously Sexual But She Sure Is Trying' 
> 
> p.s. literally everything in this is subject to change, so pls don't get attached to the title, or summary, or, you know, the fact that 'major character death' isn't one of the archive warnings


	2. old habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The criminal underworld doesn’t need any fucking bookkeepers, it needs bodies. '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone tell josh that bullying is not okay 
> 
> cw: vague sexual content

Hansol is too spacey to do out long calculations. He’ll lose himself half way through. Joshua has too much on his plate already and Chan can barely read. Junhui knows all this, and yet he can’t help the feeling of annoyance that rises within him upon seeing the hard copy of an unfamiliar folder sitting on the rickety desk in his bedroom. 

It’s still early. He’d untangled himself from Chan at first light and crept back to his own room, just to smoke some marlboros without disturbing the youngest. Junhui sighs, assuming the file contains numbers that he has to assess despite all of the information being seemingly useless. He can think of no good reason as to why they should know how much Seungcheol skims off casinos, or how many supposed connections the man has with corrupt politicians, besides feeding into Hansol’s obsession. 

Despite his irritation, he grabs blindly at one of the documents and flicks on the lamp, shoving the empty beer bottles off his bed so he can lay down. Upon genuinely looking at the paper, however, he realizes it isn’t just dreadful computations. 

It’s more information, real information. His exasperation is replaced by excitement and he reaches over to grab the entire stack of loose leaf that had been placed on his desk. 

_Kwon’s a trust fund baby._ Hansol has written in his messy script along the margins. _Born in Namyangji. Came to Japan after Seungcheol asked him to._

Junhui snickers. A total dog. 

_He’s king of money laundering. Has connections to the dirtiest joints in Tokyo, as well as some of the largest businesses and highest elites. Fingers in lots of pies, basically._

He rolls over onto his stomach and begins to inspect another attached photo. The boy isn’t stunning, but he’s definitely not an eyesore. He tries to imagine Soonyoung’s personality, hoping to god that Chan will get out of this with some of his soul left. 

_Our best bet is placing a man somewhere that has clear connections to the organization, and hope to gain attention._

It is slowly dawning on Junhui that Hansol had been lying to Chan in order to ensure agreement. Based on the lists of places with ‘clear connections’, it’s evident that secretarial duties are completely out of the question. 

_Most of these vice clubs are infamous. Choi has even been caught entering a few._

The criminal underworld doesn’t need any fucking bookkeepers, it needs bodies. 

 

Even in the morning, their small apartment is dark and stuffy. No body is ever too far from the other; and Junhui swears he’s spent the past four years of his life with cabin fever. The walls are thin and their neon lights are always flickering.

So when Junhui finds both Joshua and Hansol sitting at the breakfast table, he isn’t surprised. There are very few places that they could possibly be. Junhui sets the aforementioned file down in front of him before pulling up a chair across from the two. 

“Would you like to know what Chan was like when I found him?” Junhui asks. He thinks Joshua rolls his eyes. 

“You’ve already told us, Joonhwi-” 

“He was the skinniest boy I had ever seen.” Undeterred, Junhui continues. “He was the skinniest boy I had ever seen and he couldn’t have been older than about sixteen. A child, ya know? It was winter and he was shaking like a fucking sick dog. I’d seen him on that fucking street corner just about every single day I drove by, and when I finally pulled my car over so I could ask him if he wanted something to eat or at the very least a god damn jacket…” 

Hansol looks guilty, staring down at his cereal and clearly avoiding Junhui’s gaze. It makes the elder a bit cocky, that his tale is eliciting the desired reaction. 

“He told me his prices. _His prices._ ” 

Junhui opens up the folder and grabs a photograph. It’s of the Zaiaku club, the one that Hansol proposes they should place Chan in. 

“And now, you want to throw him right back into everything I helped him run from.” 

It’s dramatic, he’s being dramatic, but he figures it’s the only chance he has of forcing them to listen. 

“You’re not sending him in because Kwon is nationalistic, are you? You’re sending him in because you know he’s good at being a fucking prostitute.”

Hansol just keeps stirring his cereal, lifting up spoonfuls of milk and letting them spill back into the bowl. 

“Let me do it, instead.” This is what Junhui has been building up to this whole time. The other two know this. “I could handle it better.” 

“No.” Joshua says. It’s simple enough, a one syllable phrase that makes Junhui ball his fists beneath the table. 

Then, Josh mutters something in English. Hansol smirks. Junhui repeats 'fuck you' in mandarin four times. 

“Don’t you like, care about Chan? At all?” Junhui looks at Hansol with pleading eyes, hoping for his empathetic side to arise. He thinks it works.

“Of course, Joonhwi. Do we really have to go over this again, bro? I love him and I love you and I love Josh.” He says it quickly, ears burning red at the affection he is being coerced to show. “But honestly? I think you’re underestimating him. He agreed to it, anyways.” 

“He’ll agree to anything if you make it sound simple enough.” Junhui states as if Hansol didn’t already know that well enough to take advantage of it. “I can do the job better.” 

Joshua narrows his eyes, the way he always does when he is about to spit venom. “Damn, Joonhwi, didn’t realise you were so lonely. Don’t worry, sending Chan on this mission won’t make him any less likely to finally fuck you.” 

A harsh blush rises in Junhui’s cheeks. Before he can respond, the youngest stumbles sleepily into the kitchen. He’s shirtless, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

When he realizes the deafening silence that greets him, he raises his eyebrows. “... What’re you guys talkin’ ‘bout?” 

“Nothing.” Junhui says hotly. Joshua snorts. 

* * *

_I’m not lonely. I’m not lonely. I’m not…_ Junhui keeps repeating his carefully constructed response to Joshua’s teasing. He’s alone now, in the solitude of his bedroom once again, still pent up from his earlier conversation, from the lack of opportunity to express his frustration. He admits that it’s a bit of a sore spot: his unquestionable desolation, and he admits that Joshua has a knack for hitting him where it hurts. 

_I’m not lonely._ Junhui keeps thinking, and at the same time he’s shifting through the thousands of papers on his desk, deciding they should really start using some god damn flash drives and stop slaughtering the fucking trees. 

When he finally finds what he is looking for, he takes a deep breath and sits down in the old wooden desk chair. 

This one is about a member of Jihoon’s gang. _Seo Myungho._

Even the printed words on the page make Junhui’s heart pound heavy in his chest. _Seo Myungho._ They don’t have a picture of him but Junhui remembers him well from their last fight: Myungho’s long dark hair, his dark clothes and his dark expression. Junhui remembers how someone had broken his nose, how Myungho’s blood covered nearly everything by the end of the altercation. 

Junhui had admittedly managed to find a sufficient amount of information on the boy. Hansol had originally told him to get more dirt on Wonwoo, but it seemed that Wonwoo and Myungho were something close to partners, inseparable on paper in a way that made it too easy for Junhui to get distracted by his fascination. So he allowed himself to be sidetracked and he was lost from there, completely ignoring the fact that the very last thing his team needs at the moment is for one of them to go around befriending the enemy. 

 

He tilts his head backwards, exhaling his smoke into the air. He thinks of Myungho’s voice; he had only ever heard it in passing, of course, while the younger boy barked out commands to his gang as if he was the leader. He thinks of Myungho’s voice and his hands and the way his jaw sets while he’s fighting, the way he looks when he’s concentrated. 

So maybe ‘befriending’ isn’t the right word, Junhui decides, as he places his cigarette in the ashtray and reaches down to unbutton his own jeans, as he closes his eyes and thinks of Myungho, concentrated and sweating, as he touches himself and tries to imagine how the other boy looks when he’s finally stripped himself of that leather jacket, as he thinks of his voice and tries to imagine the way Myungho’s hands would feel on his body. 

(Of course, Junhui has felt Myungho before, but only in the form of a punch to the jaw or to the stomach, and he’d prefer to ignore this reality for the time being.) 

He’s breathing quickly now, thoughts scattered, connected only by the same two words. _Seo Myungho, Seo Myungho._

_Criminal, Nemesis, Murderer, Myungho, Myungho, Myungho._

_Myungho._

He finishes fast, always driven to the edge too quickly when his schoolboy crush is involved. 

And so he figures he isn’t _lonely,_ not really, not when he’s got his fantasies to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is also horrible. whatever. junhui is a good boy and i wuv him. 
> 
> hmu on tumblr if u wanna !! my url is @moon-minghao


End file.
